#vorgypt2

"IT'S HAPPENING. BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND! THE VORGY, part two, HOSTED BY YOURS TRULY, VOX MAXIMILLIAN WHITTMAN!"

🦈🦈 "Located at Vee Tower, a night of partying, mingling, and fucking. Snacks, meals, and alcohol will be provided throughout the evening.

It's a night for all types of Voxes! The Populi can engage in sexual activities via the many available guest rooms, closets, and -- for the voyeuristic Vox -- living room and dining area. One can even relax by the rooftop pool, or get freaky in one of the three Jacuzzis.

Need to relax? There'll be a bar with unlimited drinks on tab, provided by unnamed bartender #72. Or spend your time by the balcony, decorated solely for quiet talks and vape/cigarette breaks!

Or maybe you want to head down to the middle of the penthouse and dance the night away! Neon lights, glass dance floor and music provided by unnamed DJ #93!

All of this starting June 13th! Don't be late, or do, but make it fashionable~"

OUT OF CHARACTER INFO BELOW THE CUT! 🦈🦈🦈🦈🦈

Alright. He's still not entirely sure what to expect here, or even if he should be here in the first place, but fuck if he's not at least going to attempt to upstage everyone else here in terms of sheer looks.

His outfit is a deep navy in color, and rather extravagantly bedazzled with gems that catch the light every time he moves, heaviest around his shoulders and chest. It brings to mind a moving nebula or star cluster, which is right on the money of what he was going for. Probably not exactly the most practical outfit for what's basically a glorified sex club, but hey. He hasn't been able to pull out one of his fancier suits in a long ass time, probably since the last performative charity gala that Voxtech had hosted. And he had figured that if he was going to get dicked down at some point tonight, the least he could do was look presentable for it.

He's choosing to lounge near the bar and suck down some cocktails absent-mindedly--fuck if he can remember what this particular recipe was called, all he knew was that it was almost an eye-bleeding shade of blue--throwing his back in a long swig before loudly sighing as he set the glass down.

"Alright, what's a guy have to do to get his dick sucked around here. Thought this was supposed to be a party, not a still life painting."

༻⸻ ☾ ⁺ ₊ 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 darkened . The current music playing in the background slowly thrummed into something jazzier , while lights on stage brightened in cool blues and blood reds . In a mass of darkness , he solidified in the middle , wearing a simple outfit bordering lascivious undertones . A red button up and sleeve garters, black corset laced tight enough around his middle to choke, and flowy black pants with ruffles of red split down the middle .

Eyes opened with lazy deliberation , low – liddedly looking out into the crowd and taking it all in . The bawdy display , the gaudiness of it all . He was sure he was the only one here with an ounce of taste , but there was no one sensible to voice his objections to . Sighing and rolling up his sleeves to show off the curve of velvet soft forearms , He took his time adjusting the microphone and leaning in with the curl of his grin as bass plucked to the tempo ,

“ Oh , the shark has pretty teeth , dear , And he shows 'em , pearly white . Just a jack knife has Macheath , dear , But he keeps it , keeps it way out of sight .

When that shark bites With his teeth , dear , Scarlet billows , they begin to spread . Fancy white gloves though has Macheath , dear , So there's rarely , never one trace of red ~ ”

The sound of trumpets began to buzz , and he started to walk as he crooned and swung the microphone in hand . The careless , effortless movement of his feet moving across the floor , 

“ On the sidewalk , one Sunday mornin' Lies a body oozin' life . Someone's sneakin' 'round the corner , Could that someone — perhaps , perchance — be Mack the Knife ?

From a tugboat on a river goin' slow , A cement bag , dropping down . Yeah , the cement s’just for the weight , dear . You can make a large bet that bum is back in town !

My man Louie Miller , he split the scene , babe , After drawin' out all the bread from his stash .

Now Macheath spends just like a pimp , babe ; Do you suppose that our boy , he did something rash ? ”

she just entered the motherlode of orgies. ' Well now, this is kind of hot not gonna lie.' She adjusted her bowtie of the costume she wore. / @stardustmcde

Strutting into the venue, suit jacket draped over her shoulders, she took in the space. Primed for one hell of a party, that was for fucking sure. Eellen had already cleared her schedule up until at least a day or so after. One way or another, she'd needed this. Sausage party though it may have been, she couldn't deny the novelty of it.

And if there was anything Voxxe could appreciate, as a businesswoman, it was novelty.

Taking out a cigar from a tin in her coat, she settled atop one of the barstools. Holding it out between two claws, she settled into a comfortable sprawl, sporting a bright blue grin.

It says "My Vox went to the Vorgy and all I got was this stupid t-shirt"

"It's not even a crop top..."

...Well, so far this was a shit show.

Virgil would lie if he had said that he hadn't been ready to claw his way to the party, but now that it was all said and done...the truth is that he wasn't sure it would be worth the trouble that awaited for him in the near future.

Lips curling in a scowl, he stopped in a corner, away from the main crowd, surveying his surroundings. The place looked...fucking amazing. Vincent really outdid himself, that was undeniable, and his effort had to be acknowledged, Virgil's bad mood or not.

There was literally anything he and his counterpart could wish for, including...holy shit, was that Alastor singing? Not his Alastor, he quickly reminded himself, but still...the sight stirred up way too many feelings nonetheless. He would need to ask their host how in the Seven Rings he managed to get one of the red pricks to agree to willingly put on a spectacle for a room full of horny Voxs.

Sucking in a slow, deep breath, he fixed his open shirt, trying not to think about whose fingers have arranged it for him not long ago, and put on his best charming smirk. He could perform until he was drunk enough to start enjoying himself, he was used to it.

And speaking of, there was the one part of the event he was craving above anything else. The open bar. Time to get shit-faced on rye.